different
by the horseman's hunting song
Summary: Mr. Jensen comes through the door looking for a fight. Extended scene for 2x07, "The Polaroid".


_**Author's Note: **On our way through season two of 13 Reasons Why, and had to get this down. Extended scene to "The Third Polaroid" (2x07), bridging the gap between the scene where Clay's parents are fighting and Justin is watching a movie with them in the living room. I haven't seen past that (yet), but I expect this will remain canon-complaint regardless. _

**_Additional Disclaimer:_**_ Latter half of the dialogue between Mr. and Mrs. Jensen taken directly from the episode. _

* * *

Mr. Jensen comes through the door looking for a fight.

He isn't as loud as one of Mom's (many, many) boyfriends, but Justin knows that tone when he hears it. Mrs. Jensen, who got home just a few minutes ago, says, "How did it go?" and the answer is terse, cut-off: "How do you think, Lainie?"

Justin _was _on his way to the bathroom, but at these words, he beats a tactical retreat, his stomach clenching.

In the secret and silence of Clay's room, he has heard them talk a lot and lately, since he's been on the upswing of the detox, he's been able to make out some of the things they say. And it's boring stuff. Clay's dad likes to practice his lectures in the kitchen sometimes, presenting to an invisible class; Clay's mom talks on the phone a lot, to her mom, Justin thinks, about a farm or something. When they are together, there is sometimes laughter and sometimes serious conversation held in low, steady tones, but there has never been yelling.

He knows that's going to change today.

"What's going on, Matt?" Mrs. Jensen is on the defensive, even through her clear confusion.

"What's going on? What's going on is, don't you think you might have wanted to warn _your son _about what they were going to go after him with today?" And Mr. Jensen starts up the stairs, his footsteps as sharp as gunshots.

Justin jerks into action. He should have shut the door while he could have, but it's too late now: shutting it just as they come around the corner will draw unnecessary attention to him. So he just gets out of the line of sight as fast he can, spinning so his back is against the wall, right there next to the door.

Mrs. Jensen's heels click on the stairs after him, moving fast. Not avoiding the fight, like his mom would have done: following it. "What did they ask him?"

"I'm sure you know all about it."

"I _don't_, Matt."

Mr. Jensen grinds to a stop at the top of the stairs, his shoes - his good-for-court shoes - squeaking at the dramatic turn. Everything here is so clean: the floors shine and squeak, the bathroom tiles glisten.

But people still fight.

"They asked him," Mr. Jensen says, his voice tight with anger. "If he had a relationship with her. Drag out his heart for everyone to see. And then your firm gets up there and asks if he spent the night with her. They did drugs together, Lainie. Ecstasy. Did you know that?"

Justin blinks - _Clay Jensen, _doing molly? - but Mrs. Jensen only sighs.

Mr. Jensen scoffs. "Yeah, I thought so."

"Matt..." They're on the move again, but thankfully headed towards their room, not towards Clay's. Away from him.

"I mean, really, Lainie?" Mr. Jensen asks. Maybe his voice couldn't technically be classified as a shout, but it's enough to make Justin want to curl up into a ball. He settles for sinking, slowly, down the wall, onto the floor. "I have to find out _in a courtroom_ that my son - _our _son - is doing drugs?"

"The marijuana - "

"_Not _the same thing!" Mr. Jensen snaps. "Not close to the same thing."

There is silence for a minute, and Justin braces himself. Waits for the sound of skin striking skin, wonders if he can muster the courage to interfere. He has nowhere else to go - and wow, how _pathetic _\- but how can he let that be an excuse again? And again and again and again?

But a blow never comes.

In fact, it's Mrs. Jensen who starts the conversation back up again, distantly now, as if they have gone into their room. "If he had been honest with us about the drugs..."

Mr. Jensen doesn't sound less angry, exactly, but his voice has gotten a little quieter. "Did you know they were gonna ask?"

"No, of course not," Mrs. Jensen counters. "I removed myself, Matt. If I were to interfere with a witness - "

"A witness? _He's your son_."

"If I were to interfere in any way, I would be fired. I could be disbarred, Matt."

"Our boy did drugs, we didn't know. He hid a homeless boy in his room for a week, and we didn't know." The door slammed over Mr. Jensen's angry exclamation, and Justin jumped, flinched.

He could still hear them through the door, though, Mrs. Jensen's voice edged with exhaustion: "He was trying to help a friend in need."

"Our son is in need."

"Yes, Matt, I'm aware."

Justin pulls himself to his feet and pushes the door closed, shutting out the sound. He feels small; he wonders if he should leave.

But he still has nowhere to go.

* * *

Half an hour later, there is a knock at the door.

This sound, too, makes Justin flinch. He knows his eyes are red, and it isn't about the drugs or the detox; he knows he looks small and scared and like a stupid wimp wrapped in this blue hoodie.

He knows that if someone has thought of him, they've realized he heard what they said.

He gets up and opens the door anyway.

Mr. Jensen is standing there, dressed now in slacks and a sweater instead of the suit from this morning. He takes Justin in with a look, and his expression becomes soft. "Hey," He says.

"Hey," Justin croaks out, and then shrugs deeper into his hoodie, wishing he could disappear.

"Um," Mr. Jensen rubs the back of his neck. "I realize things are - it's tense around here. Lainie and I just wanted to make sure you understood that it's not your fault."

This is - uh, definitely new. Justin shifts. "I know I, uh - it's not convenient for me to be here," He offers.

"You're no trouble, Justin," Mr. Jensen says. He even sounds sincere. He looks back over his shoulder, then back at Justin, assessing. "Lainie and I were thinking about watching a movie, trying to unwind. There's popcorn. You interested?"

It's this weird feeling that starts somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He's always been good with parents; he knows how to act polite, to smile and look nice. He likes to think he's charming. But he knows the Jensens know things about him he would rather no one know, and he knows he still carries with him the scent of the street, even if they were somehow convinced that it was just the flu, and he knows that he isn't charming anyone right now, when his eyes are red and his fingers are digging into the pocket of his hoodie, desperately clenching the edges like there's still an ever-escalating shouting match going on, and he looks at least as beat as he feels.

And still, they're asking him to join them for a movie.

He musters up a smile. "Sounds cool."

Mr. Jensen laughs. Honest-to-God laughs, like he wasn't just yelling at his wife half an hour ago, like people could have arguments and not have them end painfully, violently, _bad_. "Make sure you tell Clay that," He says.


End file.
